Chapter 4
FOUR
LONDON
The Workplace
‘Bloody hell, Vic, you look like death warmed up.’ Ray Glover, the impeccably groomed, exuberant forty-five-year-old boss of Glovers Design, stopped at her desk on his way through to the kitchen of his design studio office. ‘Oh yes, of course, Brighton this weekend. How was it? I have to say, me and my Marcus were a tad jealous. We just stayed in with a Waitrose risotto and perved on Ian Waite’s arse on Strictly .’ He waved his hand camply in the air. ‘Coffee, darling?’
‘Yes, two sugars, please.’ Even to her own ears, Vic sounded groggy.
He placed the coffee mug on her desk. ‘It was two-spoonfuls good, eh?’
‘Erm, yes.’
‘Victoria Sharpe, is there something you’re not telling me?’ Then, in full Elaine Paige musical belt, he burst into song: ‘I know you so well.’
‘Ray, I love you, but not now, OK?’
Since that night, Vic’s infidelity had sat heavy on her chest like a lingering heartburn, and even thinking about it was more uncomfortable than she ever could have imagined, let alone talking about it.
‘OK, OK, Grumporia.’ Ray raised his eyebrows. ‘But, whilst I remember, we need to get the final rebrand carton designs off to Krispy Wheats today.’
‘Really?’ Victoria sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy working at Glovers, because she really did. But the nine-to-five had been getting her down lately, especially when all she wanted to do was spread her artistic wings and have a break from the monotony of it all. Plus, Glovers seemed to be getting a name for carton design, and that was so far removed from the freehand creativity she loved. But rent and bills weren’t going to get paid on uncertainty, and Nate’s salary couldn’t be relied upon to support them both if she did decide to go out and get herself established in her own right. One of her biggest regrets had been not saving. But with the expense of living in a big city, anyone who lived in London on a regular wage and claimed to save was either a liar or a hermit.
Ray headed for his office, then turned back. ‘And, oh yes, Jerico Flint called earlier. He wants to talk to you.’
Vic grimaced. Jerico was her favourite client but she didn’t have the energy right now. ‘Can’t Penny find out what he wants, and I’ll speak to him tomorrow? He’s a lot to deal with when I haven’t got a lot in the tank.’
‘Penny’s off on her half-term gallivant, darling, and you know how Jerico loves you.’ He put his hands in the air. ‘Why oh why I only employ women beggars belief. They’re either moody, pregnant, menopausal or on school holidays. You’re not up the duff, are you?’
‘Ray! You can’t say or ask that.’
‘I just did.’ He gently closed the door of his glass office shut and blew her a kiss, leaving behind a lingering whiff of the most gorgeous cologne.
Vic turned on the shiny new iMac G5 that Ray had recently bought for the office. Then, tentatively sipping her coffee, she checked her watch, logged into her email, and texted Mandy.
Emergency Maccy D’s, Marl Road at 12.30?
Mandy’s reply was instant.
Abso fucking lutely!
Taking a deep breath, Vic searched for the last email from Jerico Flint, got his phone number off his signature and reached for her desk phone.
‘Jerico Flint, at your service.’ Vic smiled at the man’s deep and sultry telephone voice, which would soon go to whatever voice or accent he wanted to use, depending on his mood or inclination.
‘Hi, Jerico. It’s Victoria from Glovers.’
‘He missed a trick not calling it Glovers Covers, didn’t he?’
Vic forgot her woes for a minute. ‘Like I said before, Jerico, we don’t just do book covers here, we do all kinds of design. So, how did Mr Pigeons and the Glasgow Kiss fare in the big wide world of publishing?’
Vic fingered the first in his detective novel series that she had illustrated for him, and which had sat on her desk unread for the past six months. Realising who she must be on the phone to, Ray put his thumb up to her through his glass office and showed off his perfect white teeth in an exaggerated grin.
‘I got to seven thousand in Detective Tales on the Amazon paperback chart, and number two hundred and two in Scottish Mystery Fiction , but I’ll take that. The whole project has so far made a significant loss, but on I go. It’s about the art, not the money, anyway, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what us creatives are trained to say, but most of us are either lying, or it makes us feel less shit about ourselves if we are not getting the success we feel we deserve.’ Vic let out a large sigh.
It was Jerico’s turn to laugh. ‘Ha, yes. To make my fortune writing full-time, give up the day job and run off to St Lucia with Gillian Anderson. Just imagine!’
‘Gillian Anderson, from The X-Files ?’
‘The one and only! I find her both alluring and terrifying, all at the same time. Quite a magnificent combination. And if you’ve never been to St Lucia, Vic, then you have to go. It’s got so much soul.’ Jerico left a thoughtful pause. ‘Hmm, Maybe Mr Pigeons could go there and set up a donkey sanctuary or similar, but I was thinking I’d set the next one in London. I mean, I haven’t even been to Glasgow, so I was kind of winging my research by just using Mr Google anyway.’ Jerico stalled, his voice now softer. ‘And dare I ask why the big sigh, Queen Victoria?’
‘A bit too much fun at the weekend, I’m afraid.’
There was a smile in his voice as he said, ‘Ah, one can never have too much fun, little lady, and do you know what the best cure for a hangover is?’
‘Go on. I’ll take anything today.’
‘Being under twenty-five.’
Vic burst out laughing, and she suddenly felt a little better. He was a lot, but a good lot, and she had forgotten how hilarious he was.
‘So, the new one is called Mr Pigeons and the Waterloo Clock .’ He paused for a second. ‘I said clock, Victoria. Don’t be smutty, now.’
Vic shook her head at the craziness of the effervescent man at the end of the phone. ‘So I was thinking along the lines – illustration-wise for the cover of Mr Pigeons , that is – and he looks like me, as you know – actually, you don’t know that, as you’ve never seen me,’ Jerico enthused without taking a breath. ‘So, anyway, he could don a different-coloured trilby from last time, and he could be running for a train, and we could feature the Waterloo clock face, somehow, maybe just a huge softer image behind. Oh, I don’t know. You’re the drawing brains of this outfit.’
‘Well, that saves me having to think too hard, I guess.’ Vic’s lips pursed in thought. ‘But I’ll do some preliminary sketches for you with some different options.’
‘Good stuff! Same price as before, please. I’ll pay you on the dot once you deliver the goods,’ Jerico replied firmly.
‘Of course. I’ll send over a quote for approval. When do you need the finished drawing?’
‘I’m publishing the book myself again and want to get it out there whilst the few who bought it still remember his Glasgow adventure so, yesterday, darling, yesterday. We really must try and meet in person. Always good to put a face to a name, don’t you think? You were at lunch last time I came in to approve the illustration. Oh, shit, that’s the doorbell. Can we say Friday for preliminary sketches? Thank you, wonderful girl. Toodlepip.’
And he was gone.
The golden arches, twelve thirty, and Vic and Mandy found a table, sat down, and got ready to tuck into their Big Mac and Quarter Pounder with cheese meals, respectively.
‘Why on earth did we decide yesterday that hair-of-the-dog at lunchtime after literally no sleep was the right thing to do?’ Mandy stuffed in five of her thin, salty chips in one go. ‘I’m so happy it’s half-term and Steve is working away. I’m having this, going straight back to bed, and staying there until Wednesday. I’m supposed to be searching for wedding favours. My mother-in-law’s on about having sugared almonds. I mean, has anybody even eaten a sugared almond since the eighties? ’
Vic smiled. ‘A chocolate lolly embossed with both your smug faces on will do me. I’m so jealous. I want my bed so bad. Although I don’t want to see Nate. I won’t be able to look him in the eye.’
‘I take it you said nothing last night?’
‘Thankfully, he was sparko when I got in and he’d gone out for a run when I woke up. Which is so out of character for him. He just left me a note by the kettle, saying he loved me and he’d see me later.’
‘What are you going to do, Vic? Are you going to tell him?’
‘I really don’t think I can. How do people cheat and just get on with their lives as if all is OK?’ Vic took a huge bite of burger, and a blob of cheese oozed down her chin.
‘Maybe they just pretend it didn’t happen. Could you do that? I mean, you aren’t intending to see Blondie again, are you?’
‘God, no. Don’t get me wrong. He was a really nice bloke, but he’s got his own relationship issues, and it was just what it was. A one-nighter. Sex. Nothing more, nothing less.’ Vic reached for a serviette. ‘I haven’t smoked gear for so long and it turned me into a raging nymphomaniac. Maybe open relationships are the answer – it would be easier in one sense.’
‘Where has that come from?’ Mandy was wide-eyed.
‘Oh, just Danny’s partner – that’s Blondie’s name, by the way – or maybe now ex-partner – I forget – had suggested it.’
‘I am so vanilla. Steve thinks it’s his birthday if I get on all fours.’ Mandy was now attempting to open her ketchup packet. On the third pull she got it. ‘I take it you used a condom?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ Mandy proceeded to pull out her gherkins and put them on top of Vic’s chips. ‘And you did say you were shit-faced.’
‘Thankfully, he insisted. He and his flat were exceptionally clean, which was a bonus.’
‘Hark at Monica,’ Mandy laughed.
‘There was a reason we called Chandler “Chandler” you know. If the little munchkin had been a girl she would most certainly have taken Monica as her moniker.’
Mandy’s face lit up. ‘Very good.’
‘Sharpe by name, sharp by nature, and all that.’ Vic grinned, sliding her friend’s unwanted gherkins into her Big Mac.
Mandy continued punching her chips down. ‘Anyway, I do need to know as soon as possible if you are splitting up or not, as I’ll take Nate off the wedding list. The venue we’ve chosen isn’t cheap, you know.’
‘Jesus, Mand, you’re ruthless,’ Vic laughed. ‘I’m not going to tell him before Christmas. I can’t. In fact, I might never tell him. It wasn’t anything to do with Nate. He’d done nothing wrong. It’s me. So why hurt him? And on a practical note, there’s too much going on with your wedding and with Mum.’ Vic bit her lip. ‘I just keep hoping that I can erase what happened from my mind and carry on as usual, in ignorant bliss.’
‘Wow.’ Mandy was wide-eyed. ‘You call me ruthless.’
‘It’s not that I don’t feel guilty, Mand. It’s the opposite. Nate doesn’t deserve what I did. I was the one turning the poor sod down for sex and then one toke of a joint, and I drop my knickers for someone else.’
Mandy winced. ‘You and Orla do get yourselves into such bloody scrapes.’
‘So, go on, then, tell me what would you do in this situation, Miss Vanilla Pants?’ Vic felt suddenly agitated.
‘I’m not walking in your shoes and, without wanting to sound like Mother Teresa – although I clearly do – a good Catholic girl like me wouldn’t have shagged some random on a night out, would I?’
‘That’s so helpful.’ Vic sighed deeply. ‘And don’t make it sound like I’ve done it before. I think you’ll find that’s Ms O’Malley you’re thinking of.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Mandy’s face twitched.
‘I’ve got a lot to sort out in my head, Mand.’ Vic wiped her mouth with a serviette. ‘Nothing is ever black and white, is it? Especially in relationships. Whether that be with friends, family, or lovers.’ She blew out noisily. ‘Poor Nate. But what happened doesn’t warrant the explosion I know revealing it would cause.’
‘Have you spoken to Orla?’
‘Just quickly on the phone last night.’
‘I dread to hear her worldly advice on infidelity.’ Mandy sucked her Coke noisily through a straw.
‘It was surprisingly useful, actually. She said if you don’t know what to do, do nothing, say nothing and the answer will just come to you when you’re ready.’ Vic screwed up the dirtied serviette and put it down on the tray. ‘So, the decision is made. I don’t know what to do yet, so I’m saying nothing. Not sure how I’ll live with the guilt, but I’m going to have to. And whilst I’m dealing with that, I need to have a good think about my future.’
‘We’ve made some of our best decisions under the watchful eye of Ronald McDonald, haven’t we?’ Mandy reminisced, looking at the life-size cut-out of the man in the corner.
Vic was thoughtful. ‘Hmm. Not sure about that corkscrew perm you had back in 1988, though.’